WHAT ails this heart o' mine?

What ails this watery ee?
What gars me a' turn pale as death
When I take leave o' thee?
When thou art far awa',

Thou 'lt dearer grow to me;
But change o' place and change o' folk
May gar thy fancy jee.

When I gae out at e'en,

Or walk at morning air,
Ilk rustling bush will seem to say,
I used to meet thee there.
Then I'll sit down and cry,

And live aneath the tree,
And when a leaf fa's i' my lap,
I'll ca''t a word frae thee.

I'll hie me to the bower That thou wi' roses tied,

JOHN LOGAN.

[1748-1788.]

TO THE CUCKOO.

HAIL, beauteous stranger of the grove!
Thou messenger of spring!
Now heaven repairs thy rural seat,
And woods thy welcome sing.

What time the daisy decks the green,

Thy certain voice we hear;
Hast thou a star to guide thy path,
Or mark the rolling year?

Delightful visitant! with thee
I hail the time of flowers,
And hear the sound of music sweet
From birds among the bowers.

The school-boy, wandering through the wood

To pull the primrose gay,

Starts, the new voice of spring to hear,
And imitates thy lay.

What time the pea puts on the bloom,
Thou fliest thy vocal vale,
An annual guest in other lands,
Another spring to hail.

Sweet bird thy bower is ever green,
Thy sky is ever clear;
Thou hast no sorrow in thy song,

No winter in thy year!

O, could I fly, I'd fly with thee!
We'd make, with joyful wing,
Our annual visit o'er the globe,
Companions of the spring.

YARROW STREAM.

THY banks were bonnie, Yarrow stream,
When first on thee I met my lover;
Thy banks how dreary, Yarrow stream,
When now thy waves his body cover!

me!"

gaed ben,

But red and rosy grew she, whene'er he She turned awa'' her head, but the smile sat down;

was in her e'e,

"O, binna feared, mither, I'll maybe no dee."

"Oh, oh! Guidwife, to think ye've been

Sae lang about the house
An' no to ken a mouse frae a rat!

Yon wasna a rat, but a mouse!"

"I've seen mair mice than you, Guid

man,

An' what think ye o' that?

"Me haud my tongue for you, Guidwife!
I'll be maister o' this house, –
I saw it as plain as een could see,
An' I tell ye 't was a mouse!"

"If you're the maister o' the house,
It's I'm the mistress o' 't;
An' I ken best what's i' the house,
Sae I tell ye 't was a rat."

RICHARD BRINSLEY SHER

IDAN.

[1751-1816.]

HAD I A HEART FOR FALSEHOOD
FRAMED.

HAD I a heart for falsehood framed,
I ne'er could injure you;

For though your tongue no promise claimed,

Your charms would make me true:

To you no soul shall bear deceit,

No stranger offer wrong;

But friends in all the aged you 'll meet,
And lovers in the young.

For when they learn that you have blest
Another with your heart,
They'll bid aspiring passion rest,
And act a brother's part.
Then, lady, dread not here deceit,
Nor fear to suffer wrong;
For friends in all the aged you'll meet,
And brothers in the young.

THOMAS CHATTERTON.

[1752-1770.]

THE MINSTREL'S SONG IN ELLA.

O, SING unto my roundelay!

O, drop the briny tear with me! Dance no more at holiday, Like a running river be. My love is dead,

Gone to his death-bed,

All under the willow-tree.

Black his hair as the winter night,

White his neck as the summer snow,
Ruddy his face as the morning light;
Cold he lies in the grave below.
My love is dead,

Gone to his death-bed,
All under the willow-tree.

Sweet his tongue as throstle's note,
Quick in dance as thought was he;
Deft his tabor, cudgel stout;
O, he lies by the willow-tree !
My love is dead,

Gone to his death-bed,
All under the willow-tree.